


I Never Knew

by TheGreenestGreenToEverGreen



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Dean POV, First Time, Jody is an awesome friend, M/M, Memories, Sam’s POV, Sudden Realisations, love love, post hunt, tender moments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:54:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24555775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGreenestGreenToEverGreen/pseuds/TheGreenestGreenToEverGreen
Summary: How can you know a person better than you know yourself but never know this?A drunken realisation with a little help from a friend.(aka: ‘of course you two love each other, shut up and kiss already’)
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 16
Kudos: 182
Collections: Wincest Reverse Bang





	I Never Knew

**Author's Note:**

> A massive thank 🤗🤗 you to [ncdover1285](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ncdover1285/pseuds/ncdover1285) whose gorgeous artwork inspired this story. 💛 See the art at the start of the fic and you can also find them on [Tumblr](https://ncdover1285.tumblr.com/post/620149505402208256/art-for-i-never-knew-written-by-midnightsilver-for) and give them some love!💛
> 
> Abundant thanks also to my wonderful Beta [fogsrollingin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fogsrollingin/pseuds/fogsrollingin) for all the support and encouragement 🤗💛 and for making sure that I didn’t talk bollocks. Both you the readers and me the author, are very lucky to have her 😄
> 
> Heartfelt hugs to [shealynn88](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shealynn88/pseuds/shealynn88) whose writing inspired in me the idea that sometimes love can't be explained; it just has to be felt.💛💛
> 
> And finally many thanks to the mods of the Wincest Reverse Bang for all their brilliant hard work.

“Of course he loves me.”

Cut crystal caught the shimmer of dim light and cast a dance of flickers across the amber dregs of whiskey as Dean peered blearily down into his drink. He was sure it had been full just a minute ago.

“Ain’t a total dumbass. There’s nothing either one of us wouldn’t do for the other - ignore the stuff he says, he doesn’t mean it. Sam gets all noble an’ shit ’bout putting the ‘greater good’ first, but see how quick the chickens come home to roost when the shit really hits the fan… - or whatever. Look, all I’m saying is, it might be obvious to you all that we’re _together_ together… and apparently obvious to every fricking motel receptionist ever… but what ya gotta understand is… um… what ya gotta understand is, that’s just _us_. There’s, ya know, history ‘n’ stuff. You know?!

“Just because we’ve always been close don't mean Sammy’s secretly hungering for some Dean-meat. Heh, I mean, I am one grade A chunk of steak.” He waggled his eyebrows as if that somehow supported his point, “Wouldn’t blame anyone for wanting a bite - but ’is like I was saying, it’s always been jus’ the two of us. Sam ’n’ Dean ’gainst the world. Ain’t no one that understands our lives better than us… I mean, you guys get it, but not like _all_ of it. ’Cause ain’t just Family Business, there’s all the shit-ton of other crap that comes with saving the world - you know?” 

He paused to consider the mountain of crap that was the stuff they didn’t talk about, then he remembered why they didn’t talk about it… usually, “... ‘M no good at explaining stuff like this. Sam though, Sam gets me! All of me, the good, the bad, the ugly. He’s seen it, lived it, got the t-shirt, hunted in the t-shirt, accidentally got monster guts on it, tried his best to wash it out and now uses it to sleep in.... um.... oh. Right. So, can ya blame us for being close? Is kinda understandable.”

The underside of the table chose that moment to hit his other hand causing a solid clunk which in turn caused him to flinch at the unexpected sting. Swearing absently, he carefully manoeuvred his hand around the offending obstacle before re-focusing on sliding along the smooth grained tabletop, questing fingertips reaching for cool glass.

Slowly - easy does it this time - work-rough calluses caught firm hold of the whiskey bottle and with meticulous care he brought the open mouth back to hover over his tumbler.

He waited. Nothing happened. It was definitely taking longer than usual. Whiskey wasn’t like… thingy… ketchup! He was fairly sure he didn't usually have to wait so long. Maybe... oh you Mother Fucker. The god damn bottle was empty.

A growl grated his vocal chords as he glared at the empty glass cylinder now doing its best to appear innocent as if it hadn’t just crushed all his hopes and dreams. The fucker wasn’t fooling anyone. He dropped the dud, not caring if it broke or not, his head already swiveling so that he could squint into the dark corners of the Bunker kitchen.

There had to be more alcohol in here somewhere. The library was too far away. Going into another room would involve walking and that would involve getting up. He took one very serious, and very considered, second to ponder the ramifications... and nope, no getting up. What he needed was kitchen alcohol. Preferably of the whiskey variety. He should ask Jody.

Speaking of: Jody sat opposite, across the seemingly wide expanse of table. 

The hunt had taken all day and that goddamn vamp nest had been the rotten little gift that just kept on giving. 

Blood suckers had appeared from the depth of the dilapidated farmhouse like an infestation of cockroaches, five more materialising every time they’d stamped out another one. Good job Jody had called them in early. They had needed all three of em to get the job finished and there had still been a few near misses.

Now the long day was done and their friend had agreed to crash at the bunker and head home to the girls tomorrow - less likely that way to fall asleep at the wheel and die in a fiery ball of twisted automobile. Course she hadn’t said no when Dean offered just a little liquid refreshment, both of them too amped up to settle down right off the bat. Sammy had declined with a silent shake of his head and disappeared down the corridor to his room.

But two bottles of whiskey later (Dean had done most of that heavy lifting) and Jody’s shoulders were curved, her elbows planted on the tabletop, one fist sleepily propping up the side of her chin as the other hand loosely cradled a half full glass.

Vamp blood decorated one side of her blue plaid shirt and speckled the left side of her face in unnatural freckles, the red patches drying brown and now starting to flake. That had to be itchy, and also super gross - she should probably grab a shower but instead she was keeping her friend company as he drank. She was good like that.

The underground kitchen was quiet at this late hour. Lit only by the dim bulb over the cooker and the cool up-lighting from out in the corridor - the night hung close and intimate. Shadows shrouded half of Jody’s face and he might have had a bottle (or two) of whiskey but the look she was giving him was hard to decipher. (Where was Sammy when you needed him? He was so good at this ‘reading people’ shit.) 

The Sheriff’s expression was a Winchester mac'n'cheese special recipe; a random mix of unlikely ingredients - a pinch of shock, a dash of pity, a shake of understanding, and a handful of something unknown found at the back of the cupboard - all mixed together and baked well for 45 minutes….

“Dean…” her alto voice breaking the silence was unusually hesitant. 

The cautious tone freaked Dean out, so much like an officer standing on the doorstep of an unsuspecting widow about to give the bad news. Fuck… maybe they were out of whiskey! That would not be good. You didn't just slam into heavy conversations like these, you needed plenty of lube. And to not be afraid to reapply mid session.

He should look to see if there was more whiskey. That was a great idea!

Turning away from whatever it was he didn't want to think about, he attempted to peer around the kitchen. The unhelpful shadows on top the stainless steel counters foiled his cunning plan leaving his eyes to wander aimlessly and allowing his inebriated brain to follow suit… he had been thinking about something else before Jody interrupted… What was it again? Oh, right, Sammy.

“... _so how did I never know_?” The words tumbled from his lips like an avalanche, no conscious direction or control from his higher functions - the stream of sound blundering into the still air with the indelicacy of a drunk spider at a disco. 

He unthinkingly turned back to his friend. “How could I have never known? I know Sam better that I know my own fucking self. I raised that kid.

“Like when he was 13 and had his first wet dream…”

Jody winced and shifted uncomfortably on the wooden bench “Um Dean? Not sure Sam’s gonna be too happy about you sharing…”

Dean hadn't even paused, his unfocused eyes fixed on the past. He certainly didn't hear his friend’s patient sigh.

“Kid was all embarrassed about it. Like it ain't just natural biology. You would think he would know that. What with him having read practically every science text book ever written before his balls even dropped. But the thing was, he was trying hard as hell not to let on just _how_ embarrassed he was. Okay, I mean sure, woulda been a whole lot less embarrassing if it hadn't happened when we was sharing a bed cause the crappy apartment Dad had rented only had the one room…”

Jody somberly considered her half full glass and wondered if there was enough alcohol in the world for this conversation.

“But it's not like he could help that. He was asleep. Man can't be held accountable for what happens in his head when he’s asleep.” His expression turned steely, brows pulled down to shadow green eyes suddenly sharp and focused with conviction. The intense spotlight that was Dean Winchester’s undivided attention pinned Jody for a second and reminded her that the man before her, only moments ago lost in soft ramblings, was also the most lethal killing machine on the planet. 

The revelation didn’t invoke any fear, but it did leave a soft kind of wonder in her heart. 

The moment passed like clouds drifting in to cover the sun.

“... but it was the way he tried to hide how embarrassed he was. Sure Sammy is an excellent liar. You wouldn't think it to look at him, cause he doesn't like to do it, but he sure as hell knows how. It ain't about the words you use, it's about knowing your tells. And he knew I knew every one of his, so not only did he hide them - that would have been too obvious - he redirected them. And bitched just the right amount about other stuff to avoid suspicion but not draw attention to himself. Such a cunning little shit.” This last sentence was delivered with pride as Dean once again watched the past play out beneath his lowered lashes, his tongue peaking through the gap between his teeth as he smiled fondly.

Quiet returned to the kitchen. Jody thought she understood the point Dean had been trying to make. She was also 100% sure that he had missed what everyone else in the world would take from that story. But she watched the way his face had fallen soft as he thought about his brother. The way scarred and battle toughened fingers gently soothed the frayed edge of his jeans. The way the tension that corded his shoulders fell away like a cleansing wash of summer rain. 

Dean knew what he looked like right now. Didn’t he? He knew what it meant? Right? How could he not know?

“This case was nothing.” Dean’s abrupt announcement pulled Jody back to the moment. “Garden variety leeches. Sure there was a lot of Vamps but still just vamps. That’s a milk run…. And it wasn’t even a bad injury but… even if it’s normal I never get used to seeing Sammy in danger, but that's just the life you know? Nothing new. But he dropped his eyes!”

Jody frowned lightly trying to keep track of Dean’s jumbled story telling. They were back at the present and this seemed to be the important part, but she didn't understand exactly when this had happened or why it was important. 

Tapping one nail lightly against the tabletop as she thought, she studied the pieces of information she had squirreled away like they were clues to a case. Being unable to maintain eye contact was a basic tell that a person was lying. What she didn't understand was what exactly this specific lie was and why it had sent Dean to the bottom of two perfectly good whiskey bottles who had never done him any harm. 

Sometimes the easiest thing was just to ask - something a Winchester could do well to learn. At least when it came to one another, but she was getting off point and she certainly wasn’t drunk enough for that. “Dean? I don’t think I understand.” Her voice was low and calm - a prompt not an accusation. Dean seemed to register it and made a visible effort to rejoin the conversation.

“I was checking his head for concussion, an’ you know, making sure nothing was damaged in his neck. Damn things alway go for his neck, anyway, ‘s standard drills. He knows that if he ain’t concussed he has to keep eye contact.

“But he dint! An’ he didn’t push me off when he dropped his eyes, or grumble that he was fine like he would have if he was pissed. And he didn’t drop his eyes because of no concussion either, he just… he hid from me Jody! But there wasn't no reason to hide from me then. You see?”

Jody didn't see. But Dean was on a roll now, she was sure he would explain.

“Sam makes eye contact. That’s his thing. He knows his own mind and he wants you to agree and he uses those fucking eyes like a weapon. And the god damn things work too, every fucking time. And if he just ain’t in the mood for talking he just pushes away, moves on to the next thing, he doesn’t drop his eyes...”

(He paused to mumble “That’s my trick,” but immediately continued as if he hadn’t interrupted himself.) 

“- not without a fucking concussion. Half scared me to death before he answered all the questions. So what the fuck was that?!”

He hesitated like his brain was moving into forbidden territory, dark places where even fools and drunks feared to tread. “I mean sure I had my hands on him but it wasn’t the sexy kind of being felt up, and of course I was concerned about him ‘cause he was in pain - but it weren’t the sexy kind of pain either…” 

“TMI Dean” Jody interrupted hastily before the conversation could further scar her for life.

Dean trailed off weakly. He didn’t seem embarrassed, just lost. His eyes fixed with longing on his empty glass now sitting abandoned on the table, like it could solve all his problems if only it tried hard enough.

Jody didn't speak again as she watched him. Her input here wasn't required. She was a listening board, a pair of ears so that Dean could direct his thoughts. He knew where he was going. They both did. He just was reluctant to take that last step and alcohol was his distraction… or his courage. 

He didn’t raise his eyes as his thoughts finally circled back to the start.

“So there is only one answer that it could be. Though fuck knows why he chose now… and I can’t believe I never fucking knew.”

The clock ticked through a couple of minutes before Jody came to the conclusion that he had finished - the well run dry. Or at least they had reached the bottom. Dean seemed to be floundering in the muddy depths, unsure of what to do next. 

“Ahhhhh,” Jody cleared her throat and took a small sip from her own glass, the burn opening up the path for her next words. “...so you are upset?”

“Yes!” The ‘WTF of course I am’ went unspoken but it echoed loud and clear.

“Because he’s your brother and people might not understand?”

“What? No! Because I fucking missed it.”

Ah. That wasn’t where she expected this to go next, and in a way she was glad, because it wasn't like she had any answers for him for that other particular conversation. But sometimes Winchesters were just a law unto themselves. Then again, if that other thing wasn't the issue then what was? “… so you _do_ feel the same way about him?”

“What? No! Sorta, okay yes! But not like... Fuck?! _How the fuck did I never know_?!”

Thankfully for everyone involved Dean chose that moment to rediscover the use of his legs, because Jody was starting to get a headache.

Palms landed with a solid thump on top of the table and the bench squealed as it was pushed back and 6 feet of unsteady hunter rose to his full height cutting off the chance for more talk.

“Um Jodes?” He threw a wobbly smile in her direction but had already turned and was staggering towards the open door and the dimly lit corridor. “I’ll, um, catch you in the morning I gotta…”

“Sure thing.” She agreed hastily, not that it would have mattered at this point, the man had a determined cast to his face and his feet were making tracks. But there was one last thing she absolutely needed to say. “Oh and Dean?”

He paused in the doorway, one hand reaching out to steady himself on the wooden frame as he glanced over his shoulder.

She smiled gently at him. “... just so you know, I'm horribly drunk right now and am going to have absolutely no recollection of this in the morning.”

The smile that crinkled his warm green eyes was confused and a little sympathetic but he had other things on his mind so he just nodded amicably, knocked his knuckles on the doorway as an acknowledgement and left. 

Jody smiled a small smile to herself. He would thank her in the morning. Well he wouldn't. He would never speak of this night again. But he would be eternally grateful that she didn’t either.

As the sound of his footsteps retreated away from the kitchen she retrieved the full bottle of whiskey that she had been hiding from Dean under the table and poured herself a fresh drink. 

Her smile turned equal parts exasperated and surprised as she played back the conversation but honestly not as shocked as you might expect.

She shook her head fondly as she took a healthy swallow of her drink. “Winchesters!”

—o0o—

Dean opened the bedroom door without knocking. 

Sam opened his eyes in the darkness where he lay on his back, head cushioned on top soft pillows. His hand didn't reach for the gun on the nightstand. He knew the fall of those boots like he knew his own heartbeat. Instead he turned his head the fraction needed to look towards the open door and watch the approaching shadow that was his brother. 

Light from the hallway behind cast a halo of gold through soft spikes of his hair and curved gracefully around the edges of Dean’s shoulders, leaving the rest of him and - more importantly - his expression, lost in shadow.

Dean didn't pause or stop to speak as he paced further into the room. 

Sam hadn't been sleeping, just laying - hiding - in the dark, but Dean knew that. He would have been able to tell from the sound of Sam’s breathing even if he hadn’t seen the gleam of light reflecting from open eyes. 

Swallowing dryly he thought about sitting up. Sam really didn't want to have this conversation. Especially with Dean smelling like he had drained the bunker of its liquor supplies. Hesitation stalled his movement. 

He waited, bracing himself unobtrusively as he could. He doubted that fists would fly. They were too old for that these days. Mostly. Sometimes. But sometimes a punch was a lot easier to heal from than the festering wounds of bitter words.

How could he have been so stupid. 

It had been a glitch. Not the type of glitch people might think. It's not like he had been secretly pining for Dean’s body since he was a kid and finally let the fact slip. I mean sure he thought about Dean like that sometimes, but they were just flashes of feelings, like hunger or tiredness, they could be ignored. Stuff like that wasn't important to him. It wasn’t something he allowed to linger at the back of his mind. A non-issue.

Sam was doing a lot of thinking and Dean wasn’t walking slowly. It’s not like the room was giant or like Dean was in slow motion. That would have given Sam time to examine every little thought before his brother arrived. Wouldn’t that have been nice. 

What Sam had in reality was 5 paces. His mind was just scrambling.

He tried to set his thoughts into some sort of coherent order in the last second as Dean arrived. He should really have done all this thinking earlier, but he had hoped that if he didn't think about it, didn't mention it, maybe Dean would just ignore it.

Apparently not this time though, so Sam tried not to waste precious seconds in self recrimination. He would have plenty of time to do that later.

He hadn't been concussed, much as that might have been preferable, and Dean knew that too. Sure Sam had hit his head on the crumbling plaster wall as the vamp had tackled him, clawed hands grabbing tight to choke him out - black crowding the edge of his vision like a familiar old friend. Dean had been an approaching roar even as Sam’s questing fingertips had found the blood slicked handle of his dropped machete. One swing of his arm had let the sweet taste of oxygen flood his lungs. 

His stumble on rising to his feet had purely been because the corpse had tangled his legs. Nothing for Dean to worry about. But that had been the last vamp and as per Winchester standard operating procedures, Dean had launched into ‘Operation Check Sammy isn’t Badly Hurt’.

That was the moment that had fucked him over. Fucked them both over.

For no reason - and out of nowhere - a thought had appeared in Sam’s mind as green eyes made contact with his own. Well, more a feeling than a thought - exasperated fondness for a brother who would never stop, would never give up, never quit, no matter what Sam said or did. This wasn't a new thing. It wasn't a revelation. But for an inexplicable reason the thought had grown big. The size of that fact making itself known in a whole new way. 

And that was the problem. The feeling had been too much, flooding him with a warmth, an exuberance, that he had no way to express or contain.

...and he had had to look away - to stop the pain from blossoming under his sternum as he realised that there would never be a way to communicate or demonstrate the enormity of this feeling. There would never be a way to make sure Dean knew it - inside and out. 

That single sharp thought had hurt like the depths of a thousand years in Hell.

Maybe Sam _was_ concussed. One too many hits to the head and he was suffering from brain damage without any of the other signs of concussion. It was possible. There had been a study of professional boxers that looked at the....

But of course Dean had seen - when Sam had dropped his eyes. Just like he would have seen the pain if he hadn't - would have seen the pain without Sam having a way to explain the enormity of the feeling that caused it. 

It was all too late anyway. Dean was here. Sam hastily pushed himself up to a half recline so that his shoulders were propped against the headboard.

His brother lowered himself with a grunt to sit on the edge of Sam's bed. One denim clad hip pressed warm against Sam’s leg even through the covers. But he stayed half turned away, elbows propped on bent knees, his head hung to look down to the floor. 

Sam waited, his thoughts frozen and crystalline and ready to shatter. Dean would have to speak first.

“I didn't know ‘why’... and that bugged me.” Dean rasped in a quiet whisper, the hoarse confession of a sinner. “I was gonna leave it Sammy. I was, I swear...but: You do! Don’t you?”

Sam had no idea what Dean was asking, there were a thousand thoughts that might have led Dean to be sitting here in his room, drunk at - Sam dared to glance away from the gold lit outline of Dean’s profile to squint quickly at the red numbers of his bedside clock - almost 3am. But Sam hadn't been there to watch those thoughts play across his brothers face and now shrouded in the twilight of the dark room all Sam could read was the weary curve of his shoulders and the hesitant hitch of his breath and the faint quiver in the air that came from muscles held taunt. Actually, that last might be coming from him.

Sam started to say “I’m sorry,” unsure if he was apologizing for not understanding Dean’s question or for having placed them in this situation to begin with. But Dean was already turning and surging forward. 

Sam tensed. He couldn't help it, he wasn't going to fight back but a thousand years of instinct had him braced ready for pain. What it didn't have him braced for was the soft lips that covered his own.

Dean kissed slow and careful despite the frozen form beneath him - one palm landing home against the rabbiting beat of a heart trapped within a broad strong chest. The other hand coming up to cradle one side of Sam’s face.

With warm whiskey breath and the most delicate movements, Dean tried to explain something that he had never had the right words to explain. Something that maybe the right words didn't exist for in the first place.

And after a few moments of realising that he was failing even at that, Dean pulled back just millimeters, just far enough to let the air from his words wash over the dark outline of his brother’s mouth. “No.” The word was soft and final and utterly certain in its conviction even as it was devastatingly inadequate in its explanation. But he added a little more even though he knew it was useless . “You’re not sorry... and neither am I.” 

_Let that be enough,_ Dean prayed to a Universe that he knew didn't care - even as he strained to see through the darkness into the hazel eyes in front of him. _Let it be enough because I don’t know what else to say._

Whether or not he heard that unspoken plea, it was Sam that moved forward this time, flinging himself into free fall within that massive feeling which had once again exploded in his chest. Only this time there was no pain. No hiding. 

Strong worn hands caught him as soft lips cushioned his fall.

He still didn't know what Dean had been asking. And he still didn't have the words to explain this - any of this. And that thought should drive him insane. Him, Sam Fucking Winchester who always had to know and catalogue and explain everything.

But here and now it was okay - this nameless thing which he didn't have words for - because Dean didn’t have the words for it either. They might have approached the question from opposite sides, neither knowing what the other was asking but the end result was the same point. This. Here. This feeling that could never be described. But he felt it. And more importantly so did Dean.

And that? That was everything and enough.

—o0o—

**Epilogue**

It was Sunday morning. Two days after Jody had said farewell to the boys and gone home to her girls.

She hadn't said a word other than to hug them both goodbye and make them promise to call if anything came up. Standard farewell.

Dean was glad. He had enough of his memory despite two bottles of whiskey to know that there had been a conversation he never wanted to replay.

Since then though he had expected Sammy to want to talk. That was Sam’s thing, talking about feelings and shit. Getting everything laid out in the open. 

That whole first day… after... Dean had been on tenterhooks waiting for the big conversation.

It never came.

Dean started off kinda relieved about that but soon he’d become suspicious. Kept wondering if there was a way to check if reality was a Djinn dream, except that his head had felt like it was going to explode and his mouth had tasted like ass for the entire day. And despite the casual touches and easy smiles, Sam hadn't been at all sympathetic about his hangover. So yeah, probably not a Djinn dream.

But that night Sam hadn't said a word when he turned up in Dean’s room, and Dean had been confused until Sam’s fingers went to the top button of his plaid, his eyes clear and direct.

There definitely hadn't been any talking after that. Well other than groans, a fair bit of enthusiastic cursing and the grunting of each other’s names. 

The following day they had hardly left the room, definitely no talking that day either.

Now it was Sunday morning. They were both in desperate need of a shower and the sheets needed to be changed. Or possibly salted and burned, Dean thought with a grimace as he lay on his back trying to inch away from a sticky patch without actually having to move.

He must have jostled more than he intended because Sam grumbled sleepily at his side “... Is too early...” the words slurred into the pillow beneath an unruly mop of sex mussed hair. 

Sam had slept on his front, a line of heat pressed to Dean’s side but with one leg thrown over his brother’s thigh to tangle their feet together.

Sam did some jostling of his own then as he tried to get comfortable again, causing his thigh to move against Dean’s groin. 

Heat stirred low in his belly as his cock gave a twitch of interest at the warm friction. Honestly Dean was a bit surprised at that. Neither of them were as young as they used to be, not even counting Hell years. He would have thought yesterday would have been enough to tide them over for at least a week or two. But apparently they had a lot of catching up to do.

Grinning as he cheerfully gave in to his impulses, Dean reached out and pulled the rest of a surprised Sammy over on top of himself. 

Kaleidoscope eyes blinked down from beneath the haystack hair, as the younger Winchester flailed wildly before bracing himself with hands on either side of Dean’s head.

“Seriously?” There was disbelief in Sam’s eyes as Dean smirked totally unrepentant, rolling his hips in response and pressing up with his hardening cock to show just how serious he was. 

“It's Sunday morning Sammy. It's practically the law. Why?! Do ya wanna have a discussion about it?”

Sam purposely hesitated just long enough to send a fission of trepidation through Dean before he burst out laughing - deep cut dimples gracing his cheeks as his fox eyes crinkled and his broad chest heaved. 

To the soundtrack of his obnoxious little brother’s laughter, the elder Winchester grumbled about snot nose little brats and dropped his hands to start a tickle war that would end with them on the floor and definitely not in a sexy way.

Noticing the dangerous gleam in the emerald eyes, Sam scooped up his brother’s wrists before tickling could commence. For good measure he pinned Dean’s hands to the bed up by his head, grinning all the while.

A suspiciously soft grunt rumbled from Dean as long fingers clasped firm around his forearms, sliding up to settle home just below his hands - the pressure enough to show steel but not to bite. He allowed himself to remain caught, flexing just enough to feel the power in those hands.

Sam paused.

Well, that was new. And interesting. Sam lowered his face and let the weight of his hips fall more heavily as he tightened his grip. 

“No.” The grin slipped from his pink lips as a warm fire kindled within his sunflower eyes. His voice low and soft as honey, fell like kisses on his brother's lips as he closed the small gap between them. “Definitely no need for talking.” 

Lips parted and tongues met as soft nips turned heated - in what apparently was something they would never get tired of.

But Sam, being the snot nosed brat that he has always been, still had to get the last words in.

“That is unless you need a safeword?” He still hadn’t let go of his brother's wrists and Dean's breath caught again at the gleam in Sam’s eyes even as he growled at the smirk. His hips might have rolled involuntarily but Dean filled that bit of snark away for later. He could put nair in Sam's shampoo or something.

There might not be words to describe this thing between them and it seemed like even Sammy wasn't going to try, (which in itself was a fucking miracle) but that didn’t mean Dean would be taking any of his shit, he was still his little brother and Dean could still kick his ass…

… just maybe later, once the universe stopped trying to birth a new star in the center of his chest because that massive feeling was back again and he was gonna do his god damn best to explain it better with his actions this time. Maybe he would come close. If not there was always next time.

FIN


End file.
